fortpitttunnel

[fortpitttunnel]

3/3

Dear Charlie,

“You learn a couple of things when you get to my age.” That’s the opening line to my favorite song by The 1975. I was 13 when I first read your letters, Charlie. I’m 21 now. It’s strange because a lot of the things that you wrote resonated with me so deeply at one point, but not so much anymore, and I think that’s a great thing.

One of the most important things that I’ve learned since then is this: To suffer is to be human. It sounds kind of pessimistic, I know, but there is an inevitability that comes with suffering. We can’t avoid it, but we can do our best to live alongside it. Some people turn to religion and philosophy, others turn to drugs and alcohol, but I think that it’s most important to turn within yourself and recognize that you share in this universal truth with everyone else. The pain that you experience does not negate someone else’s, and vice versa. I think that you’re starting to come to this conclusion too. It's just like you said: “And even if somebody has it much worse, that doesn’t really change the fact that you have what you have” (211).

Do you remember what you wrote about It’s a Wonderful Life? It was during Christmas break, and you said that you wished that the angel had shown Uncle Billy, not George, how his life had meaning. You thought that seeing this would have made you feel better (76). The way you presented George Bailey as an extremely sacrificial person–which he is–is only half of his character. George is also flawed like his uncle and his sacrificial nature often comes from his passivity (or as Bill would put it, his lack of participation in life) rather than a greater moral strength. His feelings, resentment, and responsibilities eat at him and he suffers, but like we’ve both said, this suffering is just as valid as Billy’s. George’s life does not have meaning because he is the most virtuous person alive, but rather simply because he is a person. His existence and his actions are interconnected with everyone else. Despite our flaws, our meaning comes from our existence with others, and though we share in each other’s suffering, we also share in our hope, too. 

I wonder what you think about the movie now. Are you also coming to believe that our flaws don’t make our redemptions any more or less meaningful? What about the intertwined cosmic order? Even if you don’t fully believe me now, I think that you’ll eventually come to understand what I mean.

Your existence is not clandestine, Charlie. You affect people in ways that you will never know, both good and bad. You can’t live your life from the sidelines, letting other people take the reigns. Remember what happened to your relationship with Mary Elizabeth? Confront the ugly truths, bask in the uncomfortable, speak what is unspoken, and find meaning, not blame, in this shared existence. 

Your friend,

Demi

P.S. The song by The 1975 is called Give Yourself A Try, and I think that you should do that. Give yourself a try, that is.

[fortpitttunnel]

2/3

Dear Charlie,

Bill told you that, “sometimes people use thought to not participate in life” (24). I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what that means. You said that you were making an effort to go to more events at school and trying to detach yourself from the books you read. While some of that may be part of what Bill meant, I think that there is more to it. There’s a song by The Maine called (Un)lost that gets to the heart of it. The chorus goes like this: Control what you can, confront what you can’t.

As contradictory as this may sound, I truly believe that self-reflection is necessary for participation. Not the kind of reflection where you wonder about the lives and happiness of strangers around you instead of interacting with them. Rather, I’m talking about turning within yourself to try to understand your morals, your vices, and everything in between. When you reflect on the letters that you sent me, how do you feel? Do you feel uncomfortable, happy, sad, or nothing at all? I think you should confront these feelings, whatever they are. It’ll help you to better know your values and boundaries, and you’ll be a better friend/brother/son/person because of it. I mean, if you can’t confront yourself, then how can you confront someone else?

You’re a very passive person, Charlie, and I think part of that is born out of the secrecy that you grew up with. All of this secrecy translates into passivity–the kind of that manifested in your relationship with Mary Elizabeth. She wanted to kiss you, and you didn’t know when you would be ready, so instead of asking yourself, you wanted to ask Sam (114). Or, after you and Mary Elizabeth made out in her basement, all you could do was think about what Sam had told you about Mary Elizabeth (127). You avoided participating in the relationship fully because you never learned to confront your emotions–the men in your life always kept them secret. Instead, you opted to hide behind Sam’s advice because you couldn’t face yourself, and therefore, couldn’t face Mary Elizabeth.

Your life is yours to live, Charlie. That means that your participation is contingent upon your own thoughts, feelings, and actions. Don’t forget that. 

Your friend,

Demi

[fortpitttunnel]

1/3

Dear Charlie, 

It’s hard to live in a world of secrets. It’s even harder when those secrets form the basis of your relationship with everyone around you. Your best friend commits suicide and you are left to find solace in posthumous what-ifs. Your aunt died in a car accident, and you weren’t allowed to attend the funeral to say goodbye. There’s a weird tension present in secrecy. These things are hidden from you to protect you from them, but, in their uncertainty, there is even more grief, confusion, and turmoil.

Moreover, secrecy has shaped your relationship with your emotions. After the M*A*S*H finale, your dad cried and swore you to secrecy (17). Over winter break, you watched your brother’s football game with your grandfather and he cried; you recognized the covert nature of his emotions (59). The adults in your life, especially the men, have hidden their emotions, so you do the same. After you kissed Sam during truth or dare, you were basically exiled from your friend group, and you had a hard time adjusting to being alone again. But instead of feeling your emotions, you avoided them. You walked around school daydreaming about teachers, students, and yourself, returning to the familiar what-ifs that have framed most of your relationships (142). 

There is no shame in emotions, or in trying to understand them. Remember what you wrote in your first letter to me? You said that “not knowing” is what really bothered you about Michael’s death. If you had known more then maybe you would “miss him more clearly” (4). Secrets bring pain and freeing yourself from them brings clarity. Reach for a light in a gauntlet of toxic paradigms–that’s a lyric from Sam Fender’s song Paradigms, but it seems fitting here. Break the cycle, Charlie. 

Your friend,

Demi